Freedom's Farm
“Freedom’s Farm" was written in honor of the seventieth birthday of the poet’s father, Owen D. Young, farmer and distinguished American. It will form the title piece of a new volume of Mrs. Case’s poems, soon to be published by Houghton Mifflin Company. Her first book, a long narrative poem, At Midnight on the 31st of March, appeared in 1938.
by JOSEPHINE YOUNG CASE
HE CAME down from the woods, an old man,
Older it seemed than even the hemlock trees
And grandfather to the maple and the beech,
But straight as they, only the mark of years
Cut in his face like grooves in butternut bark.
Older it seemed than even the hemlock trees
And grandfather to the maple and the beech,
But straight as they, only the mark of years
Cut in his face like grooves in butternut bark.
He walked among the farms and through the village.
Nobody knew him there, although he looked
A little like someone everybody knew.
Nobody knew him there, although he looked
A little like someone everybody knew.
They questioned him around the stove that night.
“Why, I’ve been here a long, long time,” he said.
“I came in a ship, but that was long ago.
And I cut down the trees, when there were trees
And nothing else upon these hills. O what a fire
The forest made, so we could grow our corn!
I sowed the seed, and like the grain I grew,
Wet by American rain, fed by this soil
Until I too was native to these parts,
Like the water in the creek, these hills, this air.
I saw the fields expand, the machines come in,
The rivers and the railroads and the roads.
I saw the blood upon our native ground.
The good times came and after them the bad,
Floods, and the droughts, the frosts, — too late, too soon, —
Hail on the grain and ice upon the trees,
The blight, the midge, the worm, the grasshopper.
And all the things they talk so much of now —
Prices and labor, transportation costs —
I heard the same a hundred years ago.”
“Why, I’ve been here a long, long time,” he said.
“I came in a ship, but that was long ago.
And I cut down the trees, when there were trees
And nothing else upon these hills. O what a fire
The forest made, so we could grow our corn!
I sowed the seed, and like the grain I grew,
Wet by American rain, fed by this soil
Until I too was native to these parts,
Like the water in the creek, these hills, this air.
I saw the fields expand, the machines come in,
The rivers and the railroads and the roads.
I saw the blood upon our native ground.
The good times came and after them the bad,
Floods, and the droughts, the frosts, — too late, too soon, —
Hail on the grain and ice upon the trees,
The blight, the midge, the worm, the grasshopper.
And all the things they talk so much of now —
Prices and labor, transportation costs —
I heard the same a hundred years ago.”
“And you?” they said, their eyes upon his eyes.
He grinned and said, “Grown in the ground like potatoes
And tall in the sun like corn. I’m you. You’re me.”
He sang a line they knew, from an old war song:
“‘I’m Yankee Doodle, Uncle Sam, from Freedom’s mighty farm —’”
He grinned and said, “Grown in the ground like potatoes
And tall in the sun like corn. I’m you. You’re me.”
He sang a line they knew, from an old war song:
“‘I’m Yankee Doodle, Uncle Sam, from Freedom’s mighty farm —’”
He settled deeper in his chair. He said,
“And what we are the land has made us — as we
Have made the land. You remember how it was —”
“And what we are the land has made us — as we
Have made the land. You remember how it was —”
1
THE voyage was difficult, for the ship was small.
Ill-found, and reeking, wallowing end to end
In the Atlantic alps. There were many who fell sick
And some who died, guttering out in the dark
In the stinking hold. “O God, O merciful God,”
They prayed at morning when they found the dead,
“Give us thy leave to live, to see the shore, to arrive.”
Ill-found, and reeking, wallowing end to end
In the Atlantic alps. There were many who fell sick
And some who died, guttering out in the dark
In the stinking hold. “O God, O merciful God,”
They prayed at morning when they found the dead,
“Give us thy leave to live, to see the shore, to arrive.”
At first the feel of the land was too good to be true;
They ran the sand through their fingers, caressed the grass,
And smelled the earth and the trees like homing beasts.
They built them a kind of shelter, felling the trees,
But they built it near the shore. Their eyes gleamed white
When they looked to the setting sun, to the secret hills.
“What’s there?” they asked. “What is there? Is it beasts or men?”
They ran the sand through their fingers, caressed the grass,
And smelled the earth and the trees like homing beasts.
They built them a kind of shelter, felling the trees,
But they built it near the shore. Their eyes gleamed white
When they looked to the setting sun, to the secret hills.
“What’s there?” they asked. “What is there? Is it beasts or men?”
After the ship departed they counted the stores
But the powder was short; some dealer had cheated them,
One keg was full of gravel. They spilled the stones
And even in anger thought, “These are from home.
These are a part of home, like us, our own.”
They shot but little. At best the game was scarce
And the children cried, there were worms in the food from the ship.
But the powder was short; some dealer had cheated them,
One keg was full of gravel. They spilled the stones
And even in anger thought, “These are from home.
These are a part of home, like us, our own.”
They shot but little. At best the game was scarce
And the children cried, there were worms in the food from the ship.
They dug and planted, but some of the seed they ate
And the crop was scanty. They fished, they netted rabbits,
And toiled to make protection from the cold
That nightly blew upon them from the hills.
Each day the sun retreated to the south.
“New world!” The women jeered to one another,
“What can be done with a new world like this?”
And the crop was scanty. They fished, they netted rabbits,
And toiled to make protection from the cold
That nightly blew upon them from the hills.
Each day the sun retreated to the south.
“New world!” The women jeered to one another,
“What can be done with a new world like this?”
When the winter came it tried them to the bone
And some gave up and died; and some went mad
Dazzled with snow, with looking at the hills,
And staring out upon the untenanted sea.
But there were others, who cast no backward thoughts,
Who hunted ceaselessly, who spoke of strength,
And turned the screw of courage tighter in the night.
And some gave up and died; and some went mad
Dazzled with snow, with looking at the hills,
And staring out upon the untenanted sea.
But there were others, who cast no backward thoughts,
Who hunted ceaselessly, who spoke of strength,
And turned the screw of courage tighter in the night.
For there seemed to be among them, here and there,
Men who extracted strength from the new soil,
The bitter brilliant air, even the sight of the hills,
The lone unbulwarked battle with the land.
There was something in their eyes, although their wives,
Their children, wept and starved; a permanent gleam
Struck from the new world’s earth, and lighting it.
Men who extracted strength from the new soil,
The bitter brilliant air, even the sight of the hills,
The lone unbulwarked battle with the land.
There was something in their eyes, although their wives,
Their children, wept and starved; a permanent gleam
Struck from the new world’s earth, and lighting it.
When the sun came back, and with it ships from home,
These looked at old companions with strange eyes
For they smelled American spring and saw the land
Steam with a promise. They tightened their belts and said,
“Go home? There’s some here will be glad to leave
And some who should not stay. Not I. Not I.”
Hands in the loosened earth — “I am at home.”
These looked at old companions with strange eyes
For they smelled American spring and saw the land
Steam with a promise. They tightened their belts and said,
“Go home? There’s some here will be glad to leave
And some who should not stay. Not I. Not I.”
Hands in the loosened earth — “I am at home.”
2
THE trees go up in smoke,
Centuries are burning
Pine and hemlock, oak
To white ash turning.
Centuries are burning
Pine and hemlock, oak
To white ash turning.
Slowly the smoke moves west
As inland from the seas
The men who will not rest
Wage war upon the trees.
As inland from the seas
The men who will not rest
Wage war upon the trees.
The forest wall is broken,
Piled up into a pyre,
The new-found land is taken
By axe and adze and fire.
Piled up into a pyre,
The new-found land is taken
By axe and adze and fire.
3
WHEN there was room enough between the stumps
For corn, they built a cabin in the clearing, —
A miserable place, no windows, full of flies, —
But the women were glad enough to settle down
After the endless journey, the trip upriver
Delayed by wind and current and disputes
About the payment. Then the trek across the hills
On the half-made road, the mud to the hub of the wheels.
Now at least there was a place to put the chattels,
Hang up the pot in the fire and cook some victuals.
For corn, they built a cabin in the clearing, —
A miserable place, no windows, full of flies, —
But the women were glad enough to settle down
After the endless journey, the trip upriver
Delayed by wind and current and disputes
About the payment. Then the trek across the hills
On the half-made road, the mud to the hub of the wheels.
Now at least there was a place to put the chattels,
Hang up the pot in the fire and cook some victuals.
Among the stumps the corn grew green and tall,
A pledge of life; but in the new-made clearings
The fever bred that flew on singing wings
And bit both young and old. Their strength was gone
When needed most against the folding year,
In the fight against the trees and with the ground.
But still they worked, though there were new-made graves
Both from the sickness, and the horror that moved
Always beyond the clearings in this land,
Feathered and painted, scalping knife in hand.
A pledge of life; but in the new-made clearings
The fever bred that flew on singing wings
And bit both young and old. Their strength was gone
When needed most against the folding year,
In the fight against the trees and with the ground.
But still they worked, though there were new-made graves
Both from the sickness, and the horror that moved
Always beyond the clearings in this land,
Feathered and painted, scalping knife in hand.
In spite of fever, Indians, and toil —
Back-cracking, dawn to dark and never done —
The settlers stayed. Some stayed and took to drink,
Some stayed — these women mostly — and went crazy,
And there were those who stayed forever in their graves.
But there were some who thrived, who lived to see
Cleared acres, many children, and good crops,
The fever gone, the Indians driven west,
New roads, new markets, a new nation come
Upon the land which they had made their home.
Back-cracking, dawn to dark and never done —
The settlers stayed. Some stayed and took to drink,
Some stayed — these women mostly — and went crazy,
And there were those who stayed forever in their graves.
But there were some who thrived, who lived to see
Cleared acres, many children, and good crops,
The fever gone, the Indians driven west,
New roads, new markets, a new nation come
Upon the land which they had made their home.
4
THE big farmer upon the Potomac tried
New kinds of plows, new kinds of fertilizer,
Paying attention to the seed, the soil,
Making the most of his poor though lovely land;
Watching the weather, he followed the life he loved
Penning his careful records, noting costs,
And begrudged the years that he must spend away.
“To see plants rise from the earth” he wrote his friend —
And looked from the windows on his greening fields.
New kinds of plows, new kinds of fertilizer,
Paying attention to the seed, the soil,
Making the most of his poor though lovely land;
Watching the weather, he followed the life he loved
Penning his careful records, noting costs,
And begrudged the years that he must spend away.
“To see plants rise from the earth” he wrote his friend —
And looked from the windows on his greening fields.
In Virginia also another President
Bred his merino sheep, imported hogs,
Reckoned expenses, noted how much hay
To feed a horse, how much hickory wood
To burn one winter in a fireplace;
Failed and lost money, then devised new ways
To make a little cash, failed again,
But never ceased to love the lean red soil,
The view of hills beyond his pillared porch.
Bred his merino sheep, imported hogs,
Reckoned expenses, noted how much hay
To feed a horse, how much hickory wood
To burn one winter in a fireplace;
Failed and lost money, then devised new ways
To make a little cash, failed again,
But never ceased to love the lean red soil,
The view of hills beyond his pillared porch.
Through all the growing nation men stooped down
To finger the earth, to figure crops and soil,
Rotation, seasons, tools, and labor costs.
For every thousand who abused the ground,
Squeezed out its good and left it, moving west,
One man discerned the need for something more,
Some care, some thought, some reading in a book,
Suspecting that even in this continent
There lay somewhere an end to endless land.
To finger the earth, to figure crops and soil,
Rotation, seasons, tools, and labor costs.
For every thousand who abused the ground,
Squeezed out its good and left it, moving west,
One man discerned the need for something more,
Some care, some thought, some reading in a book,
Suspecting that even in this continent
There lay somewhere an end to endless land.
5
SEED from the new world, seed from the old
Oats, peas, beans, and barley grow
Planted deep in the new-turned mold
Some like heat and Some like cold —
Can you or I or anyone know
How oats, peas, beans, and barley grow?
Oats, peas, beans, and barley grow
Planted deep in the new-turned mold
Some like heat and Some like cold —
Can you or I or anyone know
How oats, peas, beans, and barley grow?
We must have wheat, we must have bread,
We must have white bread to be fed.
See where our wheat is sprouting green
There where the red woodbine has been.
We must have white bread to be fed.
See where our wheat is sprouting green
There where the red woodbine has been.
And as well as wheat we must have rye,
See where the stalks are growing high,
See where the heads are growing thicker,
We must have bread and we must have liquor.
See where the stalks are growing high,
See where the heads are growing thicker,
We must have bread and we must have liquor.
But any American that ever was born
Knows that the best of all is corn,
Corn for the cattle, corn for the man,
We’ve lived on corn since the world began.
Knows that the best of all is corn,
Corn for the cattle, corn for the man,
We’ve lived on corn since the world began.
Wheat, corn, barley, oats, and rye,
First the farmer sows his seed
And the buckwheat white against the sky,
Then he stands and takes his ease,
Stamps his feet and claps his hands
And turns him round to view his lands.
First the farmer sows his seed
And the buckwheat white against the sky,
Then he stands and takes his ease,
Stamps his feet and claps his hands
And turns him round to view his lands.
6
“IT WILL never work, Jethro — you can’t make a plow out of iron.
Plows have been made out of wood since time began.”
But Jethro went ahead and heated his iron,
And made him a plow according to plan.
Plows have been made out of wood since time began.”
But Jethro went ahead and heated his iron,
And made him a plow according to plan.
Lay away the cradle, lay away the scythe,
Hang up the sickle and the flail,
There’s a newfangled reaper coming down the field
And the grain goes down like hail.
Hang up the sickle and the flail,
There’s a newfangled reaper coming down the field
And the grain goes down like hail.
The war took away the men from the fields,
The machines came in to reap and to mow,
The farms grew bigger, the hands grew fewer,
The machines knew how to harvest, knew how to sow.
The machines came in to reap and to mow,
The farms grew bigger, the hands grew fewer,
The machines knew how to harvest, knew how to sow.
Lay away the old tools, lay away the skills,
The crops learn a new way to grow,
The farmer learns a new way, the first time since
Old Adam’s shovel and his hoe.
The crops learn a new way to grow,
The farmer learns a new way, the first time since
Old Adam’s shovel and his hoe.
“You remember the rest,” said the tall old man,
Knocking out his pipe upon the stove,
“The wars, depressions, farm relief — and war.
It’s a wonder how we manage to live through it.
In spite of all, we’re sowing, growing
Tougher than ever. I’ll tell you what we know —
We just can’t get along without ourselves.”
Knocking out his pipe upon the stove,
“The wars, depressions, farm relief — and war.
It’s a wonder how we manage to live through it.
In spite of all, we’re sowing, growing
Tougher than ever. I’ll tell you what we know —
We just can’t get along without ourselves.”
He rose and stepped out toward the door. They said,
“You’re going?” He grinned and nodded. “I’ll be around.
I’ll be around a long, long while.
In fact, I’m going to live forever. The land
Has never failed me. In its seed I grow.”
“You’re going?” He grinned and nodded. “I’ll be around.
I’ll be around a long, long while.
In fact, I’m going to live forever. The land
Has never failed me. In its seed I grow.”
The door opened upon a night of stars
And from the fields there came the smell of corn.
And from the fields there came the smell of corn.